


Cop Shop

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The thing is, John, I kind of… don't like cops."</p>
<p>"Newsflash, braintrust," John drawls.  "You're livin' with one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cop Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "sarcasm"
> 
> * * *

Matt hesitates on the steps to the precinct, reaches out to snag at John's arm. "Maybe I could just wait out here."

John makes a face. "I ain't walking all the way back down here to give it to you. C'mon, move your ass."

"I don't know what the good citizens of Gotham would think about you 'giving it to me' right here in the middle of Park Row," Matt says, "but I'm willing to risk it if you are, John. You might even say I'm up for it." 

The size of the sighs John heaves are usually directly proportionate to the lameness of his jokes, but this one is particularly over the top. "Everything's gotta be some kind of sexual innuendo with you, don't it, kid?"

"I think it makes life more interesting," Matt agrees. When John just scowls at him, he sobers. "Seriously, John, you forgot to pick up the paper on the way in, right? You go up and get the disk, and I'll just run down to the newsstand—"

"No."

"—grab The Times for you and—"

"No."

"—I'll be back by the time you—"

"No," John says firmly. "Jesus, what's your problem? You come up, I grab the disk outta my desk, you'll be done in five minutes."

Matt flicks his gaze to the people moving around them in a never-ending tide, heading up and into the building with barely a glance at the two men stalled on the steps. Short guys, tall guys, thin guys, fat guys. Women in skirts, women in jeans. Scruffy people, people in three piece suits. People that have one thing in common – every single one of them is some kind of officer of the law. He crosses his arms at his chest and decides to come clean. "The thing is, John, I kind of… don't like cops."

"Newsflash, braintrust," John drawls. "You're livin' with one."

Matt hasn't actually been able to figure that one out himself. He's pretty sure the look he directs to the newsstand on the corner could be classified as longing. "I could just—"

"Get over yourself?" John finishes. "Yeah, you could. Move it, hackboy."

Matt considers just staying put when John turns and strides up the rest of the steps without a backward glance. He'd do it, on principle – the principle being that John shouldn't order him around, except for maybe when the lights are out and there's a bed involved – except that he's well aware that John would leave him standing there all damn day. 

He catches up with John at the elevator.

He totally ignores John's smirk.

* * *

Matt stops just inside the doorway, does his best not to shuffle uncomfortably when every pair of eyes in the room turns to study him. Well, okay, they all look at him. All right, maybe most of the cops in the room don't do more than glance up briefly and then turn back to their phone calls or their paperwork. Paperwork that's probably filled with all the different ways that they're going to violate someone's personal freedoms with wiretaps and unlawful surveillance and a whole bunch of other unconstitutional bullshit that—

Matt takes a breath and deliberately doesn't wipe his damp palms on his jeans.

When John crooks a brow at him, he walks quickly over to the little corner of the office that John's staked out as his own. Battered desk littered with papers, equally battered computer running a system that was obsolete about five years ago. 

"You remember Joe and Connie from the hospital," John says as he bends over to fumble around in the desk drawer.

Matt looks up quickly at the two cops in the room that actually are studying him with unabashed interest, nods and peers at them through his bangs. "Hey."

"Hey, kid. Almost don't recognize you without the brace." Connie looks him up and down appraisingly. "Looks like you healed up _real_ fine."

"Uh…" Matt glances down at his leg, manages a smile that feels a little sickly. "Thanks?" 

"Kowalski," John warns. "Hands off."

Connie laughs, lifts her hands in surrender. "Don't worry, John. Kid's a little young for me. Who'd date someone who's young enough to be their son?" She blinks, taps her fingers lightly on her forehead. "Oh. Wait."

"Speaking of that, isn't Bring Your Kid to Work Day next month?" Lambert puts in.

When John just snorts, Matt darts a look between the three of them. Joe Lambert's got an awesome deadpan face, and Connie looks entirely too pleased with herself, and John looks… John looks kind of like he does when his team is up by two goals and the final period is winding down. Like everything is going exactly according to plan and all is right with the world. 

The tension that Matt has felt ever since John told him over his cereal that he'd have to make the trip into the city to the cop shop dissipates when he sees that look. 

"Hah. Good one," Matt says. He leans a hip against the desk and cracks his knuckles, tosses in a deliberately meaningful look at the ancient computer. "So. John. One word and I can have the IRS checking out every return Lambert's filed for the last five years. Ten years! Just give me the signal."

John straightens, disk in hand. "For one bad joke, kid?"

"Hey, I didn't set the punishment. I just mete it out."

John cocks his head, gives Lambert the eye before shaking his head. "I say let it pass. Second chances and all that."

Matt waves a hand airily. "Your call, John."

"Could you really do that?" one of the other detectives asks. "Hack into the IRS?"

Matt snorts. Could he really do that? Half an hour to get into the central mainframe, maybe another twenty minutes to get past whatever lameass security protocols they'd set up on the individual files. An hour, tops, and the red flags would be waving. Hell, give him a few more and he could link Lambert to a Columbian drug cartel and the JFK assassination. 

He opens his mouth to explain just what exactly he could do given a few hours and a decent system, and then notices that this time, every cop in the bullpen really is watching him intently. Every _cop_. 

"What? No!" he said emphatically. "I would never do something like that. Detective. Sir."

"That was the correct answer," Joe says.

Connie nudges John. "The question wasn't would he but _could_ he."

"The kid's a smartass," John answers, "but you might wanna stay on his good side."

"Good to know," Connie answers. She leans around the desk, eyes Matt. "And speaking of ass…"

"Eyes front, Kowalski."

Matt stands up a little straighter, waves a hand. "Hey, I'm _right here_."

"Hard to miss ya with all that hair," Connie says. She glances at her watch and makes a face, begins shoving paperwork in a decrepit briefcase. "Shit, deposition. We still on for dinner Saturday, Joe?"

"I'm bringing the risotto," Lambert says before turning his attention to his files.

"John?"

When John just looks at him, Matt frowns. It's not like John has to ask his permission, after all. If John wants to go out for dinner with his friends, he'll just make arrangements for some Call of Duty with Jen and the Bugman that night. But asking permission… seems to be what John is doing, if his interpretation of the Many Expressions of John McClane is correct. He cocks his head, lifts a shoulder.

It seems to be the right response, because John nods. "You got it," he says to Connie. "I'll bring the beer."

"Big surprise there," Connie drawls. She shoots another harried look at her watch before pointing a finger in Matt's direction. "And you. You bring that supersized brain we keep hearing about. I expect you to take a look at my laptop. Damn thing keeps shutting down on me. That's your contribution to dinner. Got it?"

Matt blinks. 

Oh.

"If it's anything like this one," he says with a nod to the dinosaur on John's desk, "I'll just bring my book of last rites and a shovel."

Connie just laughs as she sweeps through the door. Matt leans a hip on John's desk, juts his chin. "So. You talk about me at work?"

"Shut up."

"Regale them all with tales of your supersmart boyfriend?"

"Kid," John warns.

"You know," Matt muses, "I bet Joe and Connie have all kinds of stories about you, too. Interesting stories. Stories that they'll be more than willing to share after they've had a few beers…"

"Not too late to say we changed our minds," John says.

"Yes it is," Matt says. He reaches out to snag the disk out of John's hand, dances back when John lunges toward him. He's made it to the door before John can even get around his behemoth of a desk – guess those cardio workouts at the gym that John's making him do are accomplishing something after all – and he grins as he shoulders it open. "Hey Connie," he calls out, "wait up! I'll ride down with you!"

The last thing he sees before the door shuts is John's smiling face.


End file.
